“The Godfather” By Mario Puzo 368
* * * Carlo Rizzi, still waiting for his interview with Michael, became jittery with all the arrivals
and departures. Obviously something big was going on and it looked as if he were going
to be left out. Impatiently he called Michael on the phone. One of the house bodyguards
answered, went to get Michael, and came back with the message that Michael wanted
him to sit tight, that he would get to him soon.
Carlo called up his mistress again and told her he was sure he would be able to take her
to a late supper and spend the night. Michael had said he would call him sin, whatever
he had planned couldn’t take more than an hour, or two. Then it would take him about
forty minutes to drive to Westbury. It could be done. He promised her he would do it and
sweet-talked her into not being sore. When he hung up he decided to get properly
dressed so as to save time afterward. He had just slipped into a fresh shirt when there
was a knock on the door. He reasoned quickly that Mike had tried to get him on the
phone and had kept getting a busy signal so had simply sent a messenger to call him.
Carlo went to the door and opened it. He felt his whole body go weak with terrible
sickening fear. Standing in the doorway was Michael Corleone, his face the face of that
death Carlo Rizzi saw often in his dreams.
Behind Michael Corleone were Hagen and Rocco Lampone. They looked grave, like
people who had come with the utmost reluctance to give a friend bad news. The three of
them entered the house and Carlo Rizzi led them into the living room. Recovered from
his first shock, he thought that he had suffered an attack of nerves. Michael’s words
made him really sick, physically nauseous.
“You have to answer for Santino,” Michael said.
Carlo didn’t answer, pretended not to understand. Hagen and Lampone had split away
to opposite walls of the room. He and Michael faced each other.
“You fingered Sonny for the Barzini people,” Michael said, his voice flat. “That little farce
you played out with my sister, did Barzini kid you that would fool a Corleone?”
Carlo Rizzi spoke out of his terrible fear, without dignity, without any kind of pride. “I
swear I’m innocent. I swear on the head of my children I’m innocent. Mike, don’t do this
to me, please, Mike, don’t do this to me.”
Michael said quietly, “Barzini is dead. So is Phillip Tattaglia. I want to square all the
Family accounts tonight. So don’t tell me you’re innocent. It would be better for you to
admit what you did.”